


The Fire Divine

by wakaoujis



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Resident Evil - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cheating, Drama & Romance, Drugs, Healing, M/M, Psychotropic Drugs, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-22
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-11-08 15:15:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17983529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wakaoujis/pseuds/wakaoujis
Summary: Marvin Branagh descends into dark places to chase down vicious drug lord, Jack Krauser.





	1. Stuck (in my Head)

**Author's Note:**

> hm what the hell am i doing lol i have no self control... anyways i've got literally 98% of this planned out... it's just a matter of actually writing it! O_O

“This is the sixth incident this week,” George groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t fucking _get_ it. Where the fuck is this shit coming from?”

Marvin could only frown in response. As of late, the amount of drug related cases was only increasing. A town like Raccoon City would always have drug problems, such was the nature of small towns. But this was different, it was something dangerous.  
  
On his desk were photos of the latest crime scene sent from David and Elliot. He scowled at the disturbing photos. A mangled body of flesh and bone, blackened with blood, barely looked human anymore. It looked pretty much the same as the last set of photos, and the ones prior and so on. He’s over the initial shock of seeing such pictures, but he thought it would be easier to stomach. Neil seems to be somewhat desensitized to them, thankfully as it was starting to hinder his work.

The very first case had started months ago as an isolated incident. A rather forgettable case of a junkie overdosing in a small apartment complex. Residents had complained about a foul stench, and the landlord took action when rent hadn’t been paid. It seemed a rather cut and dry case overall, save for the strange wounds on the victim’s body. The needle marks in the ankles and the arm were standard, but it was the strange, dark red bruises all over the body that were perplexing. Like something was trying to escape from the confines of the flesh. Initial lab tests had revealed there was a heavy concoction of methamphetamines and oxycontin, but an unknown drug stood out. They hadn’t heard from the lab since then despite numerous calls and emails. Other than that, the case went cold quickly with nothing similar happening until months down the road.

The second time was a much more brutal story. Neil had been the one to call in Marvin, his voice shaking as he spoke. Marvin sped to the location as soon as he could, Neil’s stutters echoing in his head.

 _“C-completely… de… destroyed. Lieutenant. I, um. Fuck, sorry. It’s really sick-”_  

Neil had a blanket wrapped around him when Marvin arrived. While Neil wasn’t exactly known for his courage, it had to be pretty bad for him to be in shock. He hoped that they could laugh about this one day. He waved to Neil, who scurried over to Marvin to give him the rundown of his initial observations. He sounded steadier, but the tremor in his voice wouldn’t go away.

The victim was found, blown to bits in a secluded alleyway. He’d been on the force for a long time, and had never seen anything like it before. The spoiling flesh and gore emaniated a strong, sickening aroma that Marvin felt like followed him for days on end. He had spent over half an hour in the shower later that night, scrubbing at his skin until it burned and the water ran cold. The victim barely looked human anymore, with the head barely left in tact. The contorted shriek of horror was etched into their face. Neil gagged loudly upon seeing the corpse again, stepping away with a muttered apology. Marvin didn’t need an autopsy report to know that bones were not supposed to look like that. In the mass of gore were bones, twisted and combined together, as if they had been melted together. They protruded out of the body at uncomfortable angles, it made Marvin’s own ache.

The on site photographer wasn’t phased, snapping away at the area. Marvin felt grateful for the distraction of someone doing their job, anchoring him to the reality of his job. He could feel sick later in the privacy of his own home. Right now he was on duty, and needed to be diligent so that they could solve this mystery. There didn’t seem to be much in the way of evidence to pick up, though one of the crime scene investigators did pick up a prescription bottle with a few orange pills left in them. Already Marvin knew this was going to be a doozy, as there were no footprints or handprints left anywhere. He didn’t get too close to the body, but made a note to have the arms and ankles checked for any needle marks. It was pretty difficult to tell from a glance if there were any.

A crime scene investigator he didn’t recognize tapped him on the shoulder to inform that a biohazard team was on the way and that they needed to vacate the scene soon. Marvin scowled, but nodded in understanding. There wasn’t much else for them to do at this point anyways. On the way to the cars, Marvin spoke in soft tones to Neil as they went over the scene again. Neil seemed to have calmed down, but Marvin sent him home early, saying he would handle the rest. Since then, the cases that followed were similar and more frequent. 

“Been talking with our usual guys,” Neil replies gruffly, pulling Marvin out of his reverie. He hands Marvin a fat stack of files with sticky notes poking out. “It’s gotta be someone new bringing this shit in, but they don’t wanna spill. They’re scared.”

“I swear we invest too much in those crackheads,” George guffaws, rolling his eyes. “Can we just lock the idiots up already? I’m sure they’ll talk then. Who the fuck would they be scared of besides us?”

“We need eyes on the streets. Besides, they’re relatively harmless in the first place,” Rita says. She doesn’t really like the way George talks about the addicts and dealers, but has no energy to argue with him at the present moment. “But if you wanna fill out _all_ that paperwork by locking them up, be my guest, ‘cause I’m not helping you.”

“If we lock’em up, who are we getting our intel from?” Neil adds with crossed arms. “I see your point, but really it’s just better to leave them be.”

George frowns in silence, an angry response stewing on his features, but even he is on edge with the recent events. Marvin doesn’t blame him, the whole thing is unsettling. He’d lived in Raccoon City his whole life and while he can’t recall every major event that had occured, there was nothing like this before. There had been drug scandals in his time in the force, and yeah, he’d smoked some things he shouldn’t have in his youth, he’d turned out decently enough. 

“How are we doing on any potential leads?” Marvin asks. The others turn back to face their desks, coughing and cleaning up their desks. He didn’t blame them for not having anything concrete yet, but even just a potential direction was all he was asking for. The group had a tendency to lose focus at times, being too distracted at super minute details, forgetting about the big picture.

“I’ve got a potential lead,” Rita chimes in, holding up a flash drive. “Just waiting on the boys to get back for their updates and I’ll share my findings.”

“Good job, Phillips. Always the most reliable on the team,” George praises.

“Somebody has to since the rest of us seem to be slacking.”

“Alright, I resent that statement,” Neil frowns. “Has anyone seen how the file and evidence room look lately? Can’t find what I’m looking for is all.”

“Is it now?” Marvin asks, raising an eyebrow. “The rooms I remind you guys to make sure is organized and cleaned regularly?

“I was actually going to address that in my presentation,” Rita says. She fidgets in her seat. “It’s the darndest thing–”

“We’re baaaack,” Elliot interrupts. He waltzes into the middle of the room with a sigh. “This was a new one.”  
  
“By which you mean?” Neil asks.

“Well, it’s our second murder that’s related. But the first with a note,” David says, passing his phone around to the group. “The note is with forensics to find any traces of DNA, but we’ve got a picture of it.”

Marvin stares at the picture. It’s a small 4 inch note with a snake logo. The only thing written on it is the roman numeral for two. The snake logo is shaped like the number three, but the head sticks straight, giving it a unique silhouette. It doesn’t intersect in an even curve, unlike what a lot of snake imagery portrays.

“Cryptic,” Marvin says, passing the phone to Rita.  
  
“Hey, that’s…” Rita says in awe. “Lieutenant, this is 100% related to my lead.”  
  
“Let’s head to the briefing room then,” Marvin nods, gesturing to Elliot and David. “Give me a concise summary of what you two saw. We can talk about it in depth after the briefing.”  
  
“Our victim was a dealer, but he seemed to be selling either a knockoff or lower grade shit of the product that’s been circulating lately. If there are any deaths from it, we don’t know about’em yet,” David says on the way to the briefing room.  
  
“They’re getting a warrant for his apartment as we speak,” Elliot continues. “But we’re thinking he had to have been warned at least one other time since the note was in the victim’s pocket had a two on it.”

“Good hypothesis,” Marvin says, opening the doors to the briefing room. He settles into a seat, with Elliot and David sitting in front of him. The others fill into seats as they enter. Rita hurries to the front of the room, turning on the projectors and preparing her notes.

“And the murder weapon was a knife. There wasn’t any DNA left behind by the suspect. Whoever did it was quick and efficient, probably a seasoned killer,” David says pulling out a mini notebook. He flips through to find a blank page, a ballpoint pen at the ready.  
  
“We thinkin’ just one suspect then?” Marvin asks, grabbing for his own notebook.

“For now, yes,” Elliot says.

Rita hangs up some black and white photographs onto the chalkboard behind her. The photographs depict mountain of a man with a severe look. He looks hardened by the years of a life of struggle and tribulation. But these are professional photos, with even studio lighting and an American flag in the background. He’s in uniform, a distinguished air about him is well captured despite the pain in his eyes. His platinum blond hair seems to merge with his pale skin. His piercing blue eyes stand out startlingly against his features.

“Not sure if you all remember the case from a few weeks ago where we had some DNA left behind from the alleged perp, Alban Fritter,” Rita starts, bringing the room into a hush. “He does have a criminal record on hand which made research a whole lot easier. He also had some pretty distinct tattoos, which I did some research about. The one that stood out to me the most was this one.”

On the projector, a tattoo of a snake appears. Marvin instantly recognizes it as the snake from the note. 

“This snake is a very specific one, found on the knives gifted to US SOCOM members around the early 2000s, before they were given generic knives. Which leads me to my main lead. Jack Krauser, former US SOCOM member known as “Silverdax” back in the day. He was honorably discharged after a mission in South America. According to reports, his arm was injured and never healed properly, leading to the discharge. His record falls off from there but in a few reports from Chris Redfield have mentions of someone named Krauser. Redfield believes that Krauser may be connected to a kingpin, Albert Wesker. Though there isn’t much evidence to support that.” Rita pauses, flipping through photographic slides of Wesker and then of Krauser, giving faces to the names.  
  
“We’ve got quite the files on Wesker though. He operates one helluva drug trade in Europe,” Elliot pipes in. “Maybe Krauser is his way of branching out into North America.”

“Or Krauser is helping Wesker for whatever reason,” David counters. “Wesker is a wily fellow, he had extensive U.S. connections before he fucked off to Europe. He doesn’t need a newbie like Krauser, and yet… well, here we are.”

“Kinda interesting someone with a background like Krauser’s would get into drug trafficking,” Neil points out. “I can definitely look into news articles around the time and see what pops up.”

“I have reason to believe that Alban is currently employed by Krauser. After viewing some traffic footage, I was able to track down the license plate which happens to be registered under Krauser’s name,” Rita says, changing the slide to a photograph on a indistinguishable black SUV. It looked to be an older model, so it definitely blended well into the surrounding area. “It seems like an oversight on someone’s part. Regardless, we’ve got something to link the two together and I think it’s worth noting.”

“We’ve reached out to the prison to interrogate Alban,” George notes. “All we’re waiting on is approval.”

On screen, Rita goes through more photos of Krauser. Marvin stares at the photos closely. A lot of them are at different angles and blurred to hell, but an element stands out to him. Krauser is rarely alone in the photos, the figure is always right behind him like a shadow. Sure, there are guards in the photos, but they’re nondescript and no two are the same. The figure’s head is always down, so there isn’t a clear view of the face but the ashy brown hair is quite definite. It’s styled for one, the complete opposite of the typical buzzed down hair from the rest of the guards.  
  
“Who is that next to him?” Marvin voices. He stares at the pictures, waiting for an answer that’s never going to come. 

“Huh? Which one?” Elliot asks as he squints harder at the photos. He flips through his messy notes with a frown. “Uh, iunno. Maybe a personal bodyguard?”  
  
“This ‘bodyguard’ is tinier than Krauser,” David laughs. “But I think the Lieutenant might be onto something. Hard to see the face though.”  
  
“Phillips, I trust you’ve got sources on Krauser?” Marvin asks, writing down “ash brown” in the margins of his notebook.  
  
“Yes, sir. I was thinking of dividing up the stacks to go through them seeing he has quite an extensive history of service,” Rita replies. She gestures to the boxes around her. “I’d say take a box and see what you find.”

“Christ, there’s a lot,” Elliot frowns, dusting off the top of one of the boxes. “What else is there to know?”  
  
“Well, the strange thing is that none of these files are in order. So I just compiled the stuff that made enough sense to talk about.” Rita picks up a hefty stack of files. “And it’s redundant. Kinda like someone was trying to hide it. Which is why I wanted to mention this in my presentation, Lieutenant.”  
  
“Weird,” Elliot scrunches his face. He gives the rest of the room a squinted glance. “If anyone wants to fess up to this lame prank, now’s the time.”  


“Oh, please,” David rolls his eyes. He flicks through a stack of papers, tossing the garbage in between into the recycling. “No one in here is that low. Except for maybe you.”

“Let’s concentrate on digging through the files, please.” Marvin pleads, leaving no room for argument. Rita did have a point though, there were a bunch of nonsensical documents thrown in. Whoever had done it was thorough. It was clearly a calculated move, but Marvin wanted to know who in the office would do such a thing. He felt confident that everyone in the room was trustworthy, but the doubt nestled deep into his gut, flopping around in circles.

Marvin made sure that everyone was strictly organized when filing away evidence and reports. Sure there would be slip ups every now and then, but this was more than a simple slip up. It was even more suspicious that it would be the exact files of a potential lead, though whoever did this had to have been aware of it beforehand. It obviously wasn’t Rita, but Marvin had no other ideas on anyone else who would’ve touched the files. And if this extended to the evidence room… He kind of wanted to question Redfield, but that was too flimsy of a lead, seeing as he also was skeptical about Krauser. Maybe it was worth bringing up to Irons. 

They spend the rest of the day reorganizing the files, setting aside anything that looked important. They took turns emptying out the recycling bins when they started getting too full. It was busy work and Marvin could feel the ball of irritation in his chest increasing while each stack of trash he dug through. It didn’t feel like they were making good progress as the bulk the papers were either flyers or just random junk like pages from the yellow books or even just empty log sheets. How Rita was even able to compile a presentation as thorough as that while trudging through garbage was admirable. Marvin knew she put in a lot of work into the job, especially on cases like this where they seemed to be running in circles for days on end.

As he finally came to the bottom of the box, a document that was mostly blacked attracted his attention. It was photocopied to death, giving much of the text a very crispy and illegible look. He squinted at the text that wasn’t blocked out.

“Operation Javier,” Marvin murmurs. He folds the note up into his pocket. The operation didn’t sound familiar to him–maybe it wasn’t even related to Krauser–but it was something of note in the surrounding trash.

“Sir,” Rita says gently, but he jumps at the sudden voice anyways. “Sorry. Just wanted to say that everyone’s heading home. It’s pretty late.”  
  
“I don’t even wanna know what time it is,” Marvin yawns. He stretches, feeling his joints pop. He should probably head home too, but his mind was supplying too many thoughts in his mind at the moment. He knew he wasn’t going to be able to sleep soundly tonight.

  
“It’s time to go home,” Rita laughs. She offers him a hand up, but he hesitates to take it. “I’m not going home ‘til you do, Lieutenant.”  
  
“Assuming it’s after hours, you can call me Marvin,” He says, grabbing her hand, pulling himself up.  
  
“Let’s get you home then, _Marvin_.”


	2. begin again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fates entwine, Marvin just doesn't know it yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeehaw...!
> 
> serious question should i be embarrassed that anything with leon unleashes a beast in me that makes my writing increase in word count tenfold... *crawls back into my cage*

Marvin stares at the screen, typing _Operation Javier_ into the search index on incognito mode just to be safe. He doesn’t get anything of interest, scrolling through the results carefully, which isn’t surprising. He tries to think of strings to pull to try and learn more about this operation, but draws a blank. His network of people was wide, seeing as he’d encountered many civilians since he started working as a police officer, but this was hardly public knowledge. If any other law enforcement knew about it, they would certainly start asking him questions. It might be better not to spread it around to the first obvious group.

Would the library be a crapshoot? Marvin quickly looks up the information of the Raccoon City Library, browsing their website for any emails he can reach out to. He types up a quick inquiry to the head librarian asking if they knew anything about the case. It was risky and most certainly a longshot, but it was worth trying. He know he’ll have to wait for a response, so he continues his research amongst his meager findings.

This could be an opportune moment to check out the situation that is their file room. He might be able to find another scrap of information in there, buried somewhere. The door creaks loudly as Marvin enters the room and upon first glance doesn’t notice anything out of the ordinary. If anything it just looks like his subordinates had been slacking on their organizational duties, but that was typical.

Despite what Rita had said yesterday, he goes to the J files first, just in case. He flips through the folders in the drawer, not finding anything relevant. There are flyers of coupons and rubble throughout. Damn, whoever did this was pretty thorough. But not thorough enough if they managed to leave behind even a mention of Operation Javier. He went through the files carefully, not wanting to miss a single thing. He went through the J section not finding anything of note.   
  
Marvin sighs, feeling a pang of discomfort settle at the base of his neck. He checks through the next set of files under K, not finding anything useful either. He opens up the L files with the same mission. It’s not until he finds a scrap piece of paper, torn in half with most of the text blacked out. A single word on the sheet isn’t marked off.

“Hostage,” Marvin reads aloud. The word sits in his mouth heavily. Krauser had to have been reliable and trustworthy to be sent on a mission like this. He doesn’t know Krauser–doesn’t even want to–but he wonders if he ever felt like a hero after the mission. Did he save someone’s life or did the hostage die? How did Krauser go from rescuing people to killing them? To damning them to a life riddled with addictions and pain? Dozens of questions swim in his mind as he stares at the paper longer, squinting at the blacked lines. He flips the paper around a few times trying to find any other hidden words, but nothing else pops up. He sets the piece of paper aside, searching through the rest of the folders but not seeing anything either.

He’s about to go through more nonsense when the door opens. Rita shuffles in, an extra cup of coffee for him in hand.  
  
“G’morning, sir. Figured you might need this,” She says, lifting the cup up. “Edward just came in _very_ late, but says he’s got something for us.”

“Thanks, Phillips,” Marvin smiles, grabbing the warm cup from her. He slips the note with the name into his pocket and follows her out of the room and back to the office in comfortable silence. He probably should get back to his desk work anyways.

“Lieutenant, I’ve got bitchin’ news,” Elliot grins proudly as they enter the office. Marvin glances at the clock to see he’s late by half an hour. He’s a little ashamed to admit that he hadn’t noticed until now, but he was also pretty distracted with research. “I’ve got us a location.”  
  
“Well, color me surprised,” George pipes in. “Who’da thought it’d be Edward to get us somewhere…”   
  
“Bite me, Scott,” Elliot bares his teeth like a dog. George barks at him aggressively, but Marvin gives them both a look to get them to cut their shit. “One of the street dealers told me about a bar on the outskirts of town. Says to tell the bartender you’re searching for red wildflowers and voilà!”   
  
“Voilà what?” Marvin asks, trying to prompt more information. He takes a hefty sip of coffee, knowing he’ll need the caffeine to truly get his day started. “So the bartender hands me the goods? Details, Edward.”

“That much… I don’t really know. He didn’t really elaborate but I guess so?” Elliot says, wincing. “Look, I know it’s not much to go on, but what’s the worst that could happen? The bartender not knowing what the fuck you’re talking about?”

“I don’t want to waste any time or resources on a dead end,” Marvin sighs. “But I’ll look into it since we’re not really getting anywhere at this point.”  
  
“What’s the plan then?” Rita asks. “I would say going undercover is the best bet.”

“And that’s exactly what I’ll be doing,” Marvin says. He can see the looks on everyone’s faces. Disappointment, worry, and anxiety. It was something he’d been contemplating for a while in all honesty, but dreaded having to verbalize it as he knew what everyone’s first reaction was going to be. “Alone.”

There’s apprehension amongst them. Undercover missions are already risky, but alone? That’s asking for trouble. What Marvin needs is approval from Irons, but he’s been putting off talking with the chief. He knows the chief’s brand of disapproval all too well and an operation like this would be shutdown before Marvin could even finish explaining.

“Lieutenant, you don’t need to go undercover. We’re more than capable,” David assures, crossing his arms defensively.   
  
“I’m aware, Ford, but this is something I have to do,” Marvin replies simply. “It’s easier if I’m alone.”

David opens his mouth, rebuttal in hand, but Rita steps in. “All right, sir. On the condition that you’ll at the least, let us provide you with back-up.”

“Of course,” Marvin says. He summons his most authoritative voice, staring his subordinates in the eyes as he speaks. “There will be no further discussion of this. We meet five days from now, at 2100 in the parking lot. Understood?”

“Understood,” David sneers. Everyone murmurs their own responses quietly, nervous to speak with the heavy tension that arose. He clears his throat, eyeing Rita. “Phillips. A word. Lieutenant, we’ll be on our way.”  
  
He doesn’t wait for a response from Marvin, dragging Rita by the arm, into the hallway.   
  
“Rita, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” David hisses. The anger feels like heat, radiating off of him in waves. A small bead of sweat is dancing at the edge of his hairline. “This isn’t a fucking movie, this is real life. He absolutely cannot go in alone, it’s too damn dangerous.” 

“We’ve never spoken about it, but I think he’s acting this way because he suspects there’s a mole on the team,” Rita soughs. She looks around as if someone were listening before confessing. “I loathe to admit it… I think there is too.”  
  
David freezes, but the gears are turning in his head, “It’s because of the files.”

Rita nods solemnly. “It’s too weird to ignore. Someone was trying to make the information inaccessible for us. I can’t tell you how much overtime I spent just to make that presentation. And only the Good Lord knows why Irons won’t let us digitize anything in this day and age, so we’re already working at a huge disadvantage.”

“Shit, so Marvin doesn’t trust us?” David spits. He crosses his arms, looking dejected. “Can’t help but take that personally.”

“You know he doesn’t mean it that way. I would agree he should put more trust into us, but prioritizing everyone else’s safety, the mission, and _then_ himself has been his way of doing things for as long as I’ve known him.” Rita puts a reassuring hand on David’s shoulder, squeezing gently. He sighs in response, shaking her touch off of him, but smiles at her regardless.   
  
“Don’t feel any better, but that’s just how it’s gonna be,” David says. He wipes at the sweat at his brow. “I just. Don’t feel good about this, Rita.”

“We need to trust in him,” Rita smiles weakly. “It’s a hard pill to swallow, believe me. But what do we get out of arguing with him? He’s the boss after all.”

“Seeing as Irons barely does shit save for showing up for appearance’s sake, I’d say Marvin is the boss these days,” He rustles change out of his pocket, striding over to the vending machine. “Want anything?”

“I’ve been eyeing that Snickers bar for ages,” Rita bounces, feeling similar to David. Deep down, it did frustrate her that Marvin could be stubborn, but arguing about it did them no good. She’d been trying for ages to get Marvin to change his ways. It only ended up in bitter anger and growing resentment, something she didn’t need more of in her life. 

  
It wasn’t the healthiest work dynamic, but Marvin was their superior. They could fight about the subject ‘til the cows come home and then some. The case was already stressful enough, so giving Marvin his little victories would just make things go by smoother. Though Rita had a sinking feeling in her chest that Marvin wasn’t going to stick to his word. They walk back into the office wordlessly, munching on their respective snacks– a Snickers for Rita and an Almond Joy for David.   
  
“Thanks for getting me something,” Elliot teases as he pulls out Skittles from his desk drawer.

“Shut up,” David replies, mouth full of chocolate and almonds. Elliot gags at the sight, tossing a green Skittle at his forehead. “You still owe me for the last bag I bought you.”

“S’the worst flavor,” Elliot whispers, ignoring David. He throws another green Skittle at him, hissing as he misses again.

“News flash, they all taste like shit,” David says. He throws the missed Skittles right back at Elliot, nailing him on the cheek with one. The other Skittle flies into the window with a _clack_ sound.   
  
“You better find that,” Marvin says, not looking away from his screen. “Don’t want to fatten up the rats too much.”   
  
“But Lieutenant, it makes them easier to shoot!” Elliot laughs. He picks up the dirtied Skittles and tosses them into the trash.

“Don’t think I didn’t catch you waltzing in 30 minutes late,” Marvin says, all authority and bullshit just to fuck with Edward. “I’ll have you catch them by hand next time, Officer.”

Elliot shuts up with a yelp, clacking away at his keyboard. His coworkers snicker quietly at their own desks, concentrating on their own assignments. Marvin doesn’t get another chance to go back into the file room, incidentally finding himself swamped with paperwork requests from Irons. Typical horseshit. He works through lunch trying to get as much of it done as possible, but he finds himself having more stacked up for him as the day edges on.

Something niggles in the back of his–a dark thought that he forces himself not to dwell on–he’s not ready to face such an accusation yet just because he has a faint feeling. He looks up at the clock, seeing his shift is almost over. Marvin sighs, his subordinates also looking ragged and tired from their own responsibilities. He gives them all a reassuring smile, praising them for a day well accomplished. As they all pack up to go home, Marvin bids them all a good night, waiting for a graveyard shift worker to clock in.

Rita pauses on her way out the door, a grimace on her face. “G’night, Marvin. Just… don’t be reckless please.” She doesn’t give him a chance to answer, speed walking to her car, looking down at the ground as she leaves.

He clenches his fist around his key, the blunt edges digging into the meat of his palm. It hurts, but doesn’t cut. He waves at her, not knowing if she even sees it. He watches her drive away, adhering to the speed limit. Marvin can’t help but smile at that. When Kevin Ryman walks up the steps, bidding him a good night, he finally walks to his own vehicle.

He sits in the darkness for a moment, his resolve strengthening as he thinks about his officers. This really was for their sake. None of them knew what they would be facing. Out of all of them, Marvin has the most experience, the most knowledge, and the most resilience. It has to be him. He has a lifetime of sins and regrets that kept him up at night. He knew this wasn’t the way to atone for anything, but he felt like he needs to be the one to set this right, to catch the bad guy, and save their town. Of course the others would do whatever it took to help, but would they lay their life down on the line? Frankly, he doesn’t want them to. Somehow it feels easier to digest when he thinks about dying for the sake of Raccoon City. He doesn’t have the aptitude to know exactly why but it makes the coil around his heart loosen when he thinks about dying for a good cause. He turns the car on, and speeds off onto the highway, not looking back once.

Darkness envelops the sky with only his headlights being the only other light. Even the moonlight is dim, hidden behind the prison of clouds above. The bar was on the outskirts of the city, nearby a gas station which was a horrible place to set up shop. How they were functioning as a business was beyond Marvin, but if their intel was correct, then it was probably serving as a front for the true, hidden commerce. The radio blares softly, doing little to ease the tightening in his shoulders.

Marvin hates lying–especially to Rita–but in the grand scheme of things, it was for the better. He grips the wheel tighter, the guilt seeping into his veins makes him feel even more tense than before. He really had no idea what to expect, he knew deep down that he was being reckless, but the fact that there was someone on his team he couldn’t trust was gnawing at him. While the FBI had yet to become involved, it was a matter that Irons said he would deal with personally, which was rather unusual. Marvin wasn’t going to push the matter any further, and files it for something to look into at another time.

He finds his thoughts drifting to the mysterious man in the photographs. What is his role in all of this? Marvin has a feeling he’s close to Krauser in some way or a figure of importance. He doubts he’s a bodyguard but if he’s frequently photographed with the druglord, he has to have a hand in this somewhere. Maybe he’s more like an assistant to Krauser, which would make some sense. Or he could be an accountant of some sort. Whether he’s forced to it or willingly helping is something Marvin wants to find out. Krauser has to have something on this guy to be helping him.

He thinks of his meager findings from earlier. If Operation Javier was a rescue mission, could that mean that there’s someone who met Krauser? What were even the chances of the hostage being a Raccoon City resident. Marvin knew nothing about this case, the flames of ignorance eats away at him. He needed more information, dammit. He feels useless knowing nothing. He prays that there’s a lead for him here. At least something to veer him to the right direction.

Against the blackened sky, the neon lights serve as a beacon in the night. The cheerful colors felt like a masquerade to cover up the sinister intentions that were lurking beneath. Marvin had a hell of a time finding this place that was for sure. He shuts the car off, sitting inside the dying heat for a moment, mentally preparing himself for the unknown. As soon as he opens the door, the nightly chill bites at him. He tugs his jacket closer to his body, zipping it up quickly to retain the remaining artificial heat of the car’s heaters.

There are only a few vehicles parked in the front, most of which are smaller and trashed as he inspects the insides of the cars briefly. Fast food wrappers, soda cans, and cigarette cartons were a common decorative element apparently. There were a cluster of motorcycles, all various brands and models, that looked decently maintained. Normally there’s at least a couple of people smoking outside the bar, but this one has no one hanging around outside. It makes it kind of eerie for some reason. He slowly pushes the door open, heavy metal music leaking into the silent outdoors. Marvin slips inside, the lighting inside is abysmal. It’s almost as dark as the sky.   
  
Booths are lined up against the wall, with large speakers dangling from the walls. There aren’t many decorations save for random band posters, a few abstract murals line the walls, but due to the lighting aren’t very visible in the first place. Some of the speakers have flowers and vines hanging from them, most likely fake, though it had to have been some of the patrons who hung them up since they clash so much with the grubby appearance of the establishment overall. An odd mishmash of people hanging around ranging from dirty, young collegiates to older gentlemen dressed to the nines. There’s a few leather clad punks and skater goth hybrids who are watching Marvin like a hawk. It’s unnerving. There’s an abandoned pool table in one corner, the fine layer of dust of misuse apparent, even in the dingy glow of the room.

He casually approaches the bar, which is on the opposite side of the room akin to a cage almost. The bar has red and blue lights hanging above it, making the lone bartender look like an otherworldly creature. She’s busy pouring out drinks despite no one being at the bar. A few glasses of different shapes and sizes are sitting at the counter, layers of condensation pooling on the outside. They’re not sitting on coasters either. Maybe she doesn’t care much about the status of the bar, but what little he knows of woodworking, he can tell this is an expensive piece of furniture. The beautiful dark cherry wood looks amazing under the colorful lighting. He can see water stains marring its surface. A shame to ruin such gorgeous furniture, really. Marvin leans against the sturdy bar, knocking on it to get the bartender’s attention.

“Busy night?” Marvin asks. He watches her plunk down a new drink–a bright green one this time–giving him a polite grin.  
  
“Like any other night,” She responds, wiping her hands clean. “Can I help you with anything?”

“I’m in need of some red wildflowers,” Marvin says, his voice barely above a whisper.   
  
The bartender stares at him, her eyes are hard and cold. She has no problem knowing what he wants despite the music. “You know what you’re getting yourself into, sir?”   
  
“I wouldn’t be asking otherwise,” Marvin replies flatly. A part of him wasn’t expecting this to be so easy, but this was only the beginning he reminds himself. The night is not yet over.

She says nothing, only gesturing him to a small door, putting her attention back to those at the bar. The other patrons ignore him thankfully as he walks over to the door. The bartender gave him no instructions, so he knocks first out of courtesy. He waits for a few minutes to no response so he slowly opens the door. The roomly is dimly lit with sickly colored, hospital lights. A grim fear gnaws at heart, but he walks into the room, shutting the door behind him quietly. The room is empty save for a decaying chair and musty boxes stacked upon one another. He walks in deeper, his hidden gun in his pocket is clutched in his sweating hand. His other pocket houses a knife, which he’ll use when he needs it. He doesn’t know how much time passes by, but it feels like hours. Nothing happens.   
  
Being alone in the quiet room terrifies him. He turns around to leave, chalking it up as a loss when the door creaks open. Three burly men enter, ghastly looks etched onto their faces. They weren’t hanging out in the bar earlier. He swallows, his throat tight. Despite their size, they’re fast, one of them dropping low and aiming for his legs. Marvin whips his gun out, aiming at the man, and shouts, “Freeze! Police–”

But the first man tackles him to the ground before Marvin can pull the trigger. He feels like an idiot thinking that he would’ve stopped, but he doesn’t dwell on the thought any further. His back aches already from the force, he tries to kick the heavy man off of him but he barely moves from the force. He just looks up at Marvin, his eyes glazed over. It alarms him to see such a blank stare. He aims a punch straight for the guy’s nose, the blood gushing out in rivlets, but he doesn’t shout in pain. His face still blank, but his brows start to furrow a bit. The other two men are just watching from afar. 

 

Marvin points the gun at the man’s head who then freezes. The other two men grunt, slowly approaching them both.   
  
“Stand back or I’ll shoot,” Marvin warns. The man on top of him doesn’t respond, but the other two keep walking towards him until they break out into a quick run. He hears fabric tearing and sees the sleeve of one of the men falling off of his body, revealing a repugnant tentacle-esque arm. Dark red veins bulge from the arm, with dark bruises scattered up and down his arm. The arm pulsates and moves around like its in control of itself.

“You might wanna go to the hospital for that,” Marvin says in disgust. The tentacle extends forward lightning fast–coiling around the barrel of the gun–and tries to rip it from his grip. A portion of the tentacle burrows itself into muzzle and Marvin pulls the trigger. Blood and gore spew from the muzzle, and the man yowls in pain. The tentacle flails around angrily, grabbing Marvin by the wrist and pulling him upwards, but the other man is still on top of him, keeping him down. He feels his body stretching unnaturally and he groans in pain as the tentacle attempts to pull him higher.

The man on top of him opens his mouth, a distorted laugh escaping his lips. A foul-smelling puddle of drool soon follows, dripping onto his pants. Marvin gags and manages to slip a leg out from under the man, bringing his leg up to kick the man in the face. He keeps his foot on the man’s face to propel the rest of his body from under the weight. The man groans as more drool seeps from his mouth in puddles. It smells awful, his stomach churns uncomfortably at the odor.

As soon as he’s freed, the tentacle dangles him upwards, swinging his body into the ceiling with a smack. He wheezes in pain, his vision spinning from the force. 

Can he catch a fucking break?

The third man mumbles unintelligibly, groaning as his upper body begins to extend upwards. The tell tale sounds of bones breaking and flesh tearing fills the room. Marvin feels himself about to vomit from the sounds, the acid burning his throat as he dry heaves. He watches in horror as the man’s spine becomes exposed to the air, sharp claws emerging from each intervertebral disc. He’s face to face with Marvin suddenly, his eyes just as glazed over and blank as the drooling man’s eyes were. He quietly observes Marvin using his newly elongated body to twist around unnaturally, almost snake like. Unsure of what he’s looking for Marvin wriggles in the tentacles grasp, not wanting to fall from such a height, but he doesn’t like the staring. There’s something wrong about the way he’s being watched, like they’re looking for something.

The man returns back to stare at Marvin’s face. He spits blood at the man with a grin. None too pleased, the man touches the blood on his face, staring at his fingers. He gives Marvin another look before a deformed arm emerges itself from his back and punches Marvin square in the face. He blacks out, feeling oddly blissful.

He wakes up outside, the biting chill of night nips at his wounds painfully. Marvin had forgotten how cold it was. He’s not sure how long he’s been outside. There’s a few lanterns hanging around on top of cargo boxes. He coughs as he sits up slowly, his head throbbing and his body aching with every move. It was hardly a fair fight in the first place, but being corned by three… mutated freaks, he was lucky to be alive.

He looks around, not recognizing the scenery at first, but turns around to see the neon lights of the bar. So he’s just outside. He makes a move to stand up, but feels something poking into the back of his head, Marvin puts his hands up on instinct, looking straight ahead. He feels the blood pouring out of his nose, the tang of iron dripping down the back of his throat.  
  
“Hm, I’d say that you’re smart to put your hands up, but your incessant snooping says otherwise,” The voice is velvet smooth and rich. It’d be enticing in another situation, but not after he’d taken the heaviest beating of his life and with a gun currently pointed at his head.

“How did you know?” Marvin asks, his voice cracking from the pain. The tips they’d gotten were always legitimate, so just what was different this time? He tended to keep a low profile off duty. So he knows he isn’t instantly recognizable as a cop unlike Irons who goaded enemies and the press alike. So a man like that had a reputation, Marvin on the other hand didn’t. Unless… “This was a set-up, wasn’t it?”

“I figured it was only a matter time before the police got involved, so I devised a bait phrase,” The person replies coolly. “Wasn’t sure if it’d actually work, but here we are. You’re not the only one with connections. You’ve been hounding dealers for weeks now. We’ve noticed.”

  
“I’d say you’re pretty smart so why don’t you lower the weapon?” Marvin says, parroting off what he said earlier. “It’ll make things a lot easier for you. I have no problem arresting you and your friends.”

“Like you’re in a position to make such demands. Unfortunately we both know I can’t let you leave here alive,” The man replies morosely. He feels the gun slide against his head as the man walks in front of him to face him. He’s wearing a stylish leather jacket–clearly designer–and expensive Brogue shoes to boot. His jeans are stretched tight against his thighs, embellished in a dark wash. He’d look inconspicuous if it wasn’t for the rich quality of the attire. He’s also wearing large sunglasses that are meant to obscure his features since doesn’t seem douchey enough to be the kind of person to wear sunglasses at night.

He hones his blurring vision on the slight tremor at the pointed gun. Hesitation.

Marvin smacks the gun out of the man’s hand, grabbing his wrist in a swift motion and pulling him to the ground. He tugs at the knife hidden in inside of his jacket–grateful he hadn’t used it when he was outnumbered earlier–and slashes a warning at the man, who backs up like a feral cat. His fighting stance is well grounded, but seems a little off. Maybe he’s rusted from disuse, or he’s only trained and not seen actual combat. Marvin eyes him, knowing he could take him.

He barely has the energy for another beatdown, but he puts his all into his fists, swinging with purpose. He slashes the man’s arm, unsure if it actually hurt him. Marvin can see that he cut the sleeve but the leather was quite thick. With the way the man circles him, he can tell now that he’s unused to hand to hand combat, but has some sort of knowledge about it at least.

Marvin feints a punch with his other hand, and the man blocks it. Marvin uses the opportunity to cut at the man again. His knife grazes against the man’s stomach, but still cuts. The man yells in shock and jumps back. Marvin can feel the aggravation steaming from the man. He throws a staggering punch into Marvin’s stomach, the wind knocking out of him. Marvin gasps, clutching at his stomach, falling to his knees painfully. The man approaches him slowly under the impression that he’s taken him down. Marvin uses the opportunity to swipe his leg into the man’s causing him to crash down into the ground. He tackles the man with a roar, overpowering him quickly, and pins the man’s wrists to the ground. He holds on as tightly as he can. The other man is shaking–whether it’s from fear or rage, he doesn’t know–but he’s venomous, thrashing wildly against Marvin like a snake. He stills when Marvin presses the blade of the knife against his neck.

Marvin barely noticed, but mid-scuffle the man’s sunglasses had fallen off his face. He’s pretty damn good looking though. Despite the blood and dirt smeared on his face. His hair frames his face nicely, almost like a curtain of silk. His hair looks satiny smooth, and if Marvin was paying closer attention to the man’s hair than survival, he would’ve noticed how it bounced while they fought. His eyes are stormy blue, the irritation clearly visible in them. If he wasn’t riding on adrenaline right now, Marvin would hate to be under such an intense gaze of hatred. His thick brows are furrowed in annoyance. They’re a nice contrast to his features, flattering him even more. He has a a slim, but strong jawline, it’s unfair honestly. His plump lips are pouting in a way that Marvin hates to admit is kind of cute. As he stares at the man’s face he recalls the photographs of Krauser in Rita’s presentation and recognizes his hairstyle as the same one. He can’t let this man go.

“A bit of advice, try using knives next time. Works better for close encounters.”

“Noted,” The man mutters, a sour look on his pretty face.

“What’s your name?” Marvin asks gently. He wants the man to relax, as much as one can with a knife against their throat at least.

The other man laughs, his throat bobs against the knife, “Is this really the time to be asking me this?”  
  
“Yes,” He replies firmly. “I’m Marvin.”   
  
“Didn’t ask, but nice to meet you, Marvin,” The other man says with a snort. He sighs loudly after a minute of silence. “Leon. Not that it matters. You’re about to be dead anyhow.”   
  
“It does matter to me, Leon.” Marvin says earnestly. “You matter.”   
  
“Thanks, Dr. Phil,” He ripostes despite being pinned to the ground. “Can you get off me now?”

“In a minute. You know I can give you a way out,” Marvin says. He eases the knife a little bit from his throat, but still keeps it against his neck.

Leon’s eyes flash with surprise, but he schools his features to something harder, meaner.

“What makes you think I want a way out?” Leon asks, his voice even. He sounds oddly distant despite being beneath Marvin still.

“I know your type. The fact we’re negotiating right now tells me you don’t want to kill me. Have you killed someone before? Or does Krauser do all of that for you?” Marvin says, trying to prod a little.

“My type? What would you say my type is, Marvin? Damaged goods?” Leon says, his voice sharp as a knife. “Let’s get one thing clear. I don’t care how much intel you have on me. You don’t know a damn thing about me.”

“Let me to rephrase that then, I’m just trying to help you,” Marvin says. He stares directly into Leon’s eyes. Leon doesn’t hold his gaze long, looking away quickly. He’s still visibly upset.

“Pinning me to the ground sure is helping,” Leon retorts, shifting his head to adjust his bangs. “You can’t do anything for me, try as you might.”

“Leon, I can do more than you know. I just need you to trust me.”  
  
“Please, we don’t even know each other. Why should I put an ounce of trust in you?”

“I will personally see to your safety,” Marvin says. “I will escort you if I have to. I will do whatever it takes. I want you to know I mean it. I need you just like you need me. I will be there for you in whatever way you need.”

  
Leon stares at him, his mouth slightly ajar looking somewhat convinced. His eyes are shattered stars, the hope glimmering far away, dimmed into nothingness. “I’ve heard dozens of flimsy promises. What makes yours any different?” His voice is lost, quiet. It sounds burdened with pain, despite everything.

“I mean it,” Marvin repeats, his voice unwavering. “I can only show you with time that you can put your faith in me.”

Leon stares at him, the edges of his eyes wilting the harshness away from earlier. Marvin loosens his grip a little, trying to show Leon that he is taking the steps to trust him. It’s loose enough that Leon could easily break Marvin’s hold on him, but he doesn’t.

“Don’t get it twisted, I don’t trust you,” Leon clarifies with a huff. “But I’m sparing you because I like you.”  
  
“Oh, you’re sparing me?” Marvin grins as he squeezes Leon’s wrists lightly, reminding him who’s pinned to the ground.

Leon rolls his eyes, smirking, “Yeah, you ass. Or least I will be.”

Marvin releases his grip from Leon, who sighs with relief. He rolls on the ground next to Leon with a wheeze, his wounds starting to throb with pain again as the last of his adrenaline dies out. “Done with the threats, Mister Tough Guy?”

Leon scoffs at him, turning to look at Marvin. “Far from it actually. I wasn’t kidding when I said you couldn’t leave alive. Those 'friends' that came with me report directly to Jack. He’ll be wondering why I let you go.”

Marvin groans weakly. “We can’t talk it out or anything?” It gains him a laugh from Leon. “I’m kind of surprised you admitted to knowing Krauser so easily, I can’t lie.”

“I don’t know how you know, but you do. I know when to play stupid. I do have an idea, but I know you’re not going to like it. It’s a lot to ask for.”  
  
“Huh. What could be worse than being murdered in a grimy bar in the middle of nowhere?”   
  
“Touch é,” Leon says, keeping silent for a moment. Marvin faces Leon, whose bangs are mussed, that Marvin can’t help but brush them out of his face. He looks good with his messy hair, but something in him says to fix them. Leon flinches at the touch, but realizes Marvin’s intentions and stays still. Despite the thrashing around they were doing earlier, his hair feels soft. It’s obviously well maintained. His fingertips brush against Leon’s sweaty forehead, but it doesn’t bother him. He can’t help but smile at the thought of someone as unfairly beautiful as Leon sweating like a mortal.   
  
“Your bangs,” Marvin croaks. His throat feels dry and scratchy all of a sudden. He really wants a tall glass of the coldest water on Earth right now. Leon says nothing, but his eyes widen slightly at his voice. He rolls away from Marvin, slumped over quietly on his side. He’s ruined the designer outfit, but Leon doesn’t seem concerned with that. Marvin figures he could buy the same outfit 10 times over with leftover change to spare.

“Send me all the intel you have on Jack, give me updates on the case, keep me in the loop. Only then can I guarantee your safety.” Leon says, his voice muffled.

Marvin can’t help the laugh that escapes from him, “Are you fucking with me? I won’t have any fucking intel to give you when I lose my damn job.”

“So you lose your badge. You can come work for Jack,” Leon says. He can’t be this naïve can he? Like a murderous, drug lord would hire a disgraced cop, it sounds like the start to a horrific joke.  
  
“Like hell I will! I’m not working for that motherfu-”   
  
“Better to lose your job than your fucking life,” Leon spits, his voice shaking. His fists are clenched tightly, knuckles white as snow from the pressure. “I’ve seen so many pointless deaths that could’ve been prevented if people had just set their pride aside.”

“Leon, he’d kill me before hiring me,” He argues. “I’d have to flee the country, which I’m not doing.”

Leon stares at him, “Then I’ll hire you as a bodyguard.”

Marvin hesitates. He was joking earlier, but hearing how serious Leon was taking this... Yeah, it would be _easier_ to be killed right now, but he’s not taking that route there’s still too much to be done. “Y’know what why don’t we cross that bridge when we get to it. I’ll need things on your end as well. I’ll need whatever you can give me–routes, schedules, receipts–but evidence to pin him to would be the best.”   
  
“Assuming there is any,” Leon says. “Jack’s too smart to leave a paper trail. And he makes sure his business associates do the same.”

“I mean... you’re technically evidence,” Marvin says. Witnesses are like evidence. Oral evidence. He stops that line of logic there.

  
“Yeah, I can tell you want me under _your_ custody,” Leon smirks, his voice is like honey. Marvin hates how he can do it so effortlessly. “Bet you want me in cuffs, too.”

“After that punch you threw into my stomach? May as well cuff your feet, too,” Marvin remarks.

“I hate that we met like this,” Leon confesses. He rolls on his other side to face Marvin again. “I wasn’t joking when I said I like you. This is the longest conversation I’ve had with someone who wasn’t an associate.”

He sighs wistfully, mumbling into his hands. Marvin doesn’t ask him to repeat himself. He’s too tired to continue talking. He grunts in response, his lids drooping slowly. The adrenaline that he was running on has depleted itself entirely. Fuck. He rubs at his eyes, pressing down on them to try and wake himself up. How the fuck is he going to drive back home.

“Hey, don’t fall asleep on me,” Leon says. If he’s pouting, Marvin can’t see it. He blinks slowly at Leon.   
  
“Just give me five minutes,” Marvin pleads as he closes his eyes again. He gets 30 seconds of bliss before Leon’s shaking his shoulder violently.   
“Don’t make me repeat myself,” Leon says. “Talk to me. Ask me something.”

Marvin is silent for a moment. Really he should interrogate the living hell out of him. At the current moment, he’s incapable of doing so. Will he even be able to remember any of this in the morning? Or will he chalk it up to some weird fever dream?

“So. You and Krauser?” Marvin asks plainly.

“Well, I don’t usually wear it in fights but,” Leon holds up his hand in response to flash a simple, tasteful gold band that catches in the bar’s neon lights. “Never legalized. He wanted a ring,” Leon gives it a sentimental look, a sad smile gracing his face. “You should’ve seen the original. It was heavy. The diamond was the size of my eye. It was the ugliest ring I’d ever seen. I made him go back and get me a new one and he came back with this one.”

Marvin grabs his hand, bringing it close to his face to inspect the ring. He hears Leon gasp lowly, but neither of them speak for a moment. Leon’s hands are soft, but he does have small calluses on his palms from what Marvin can feel. The ring is plain, but it looks good on him, like it was made for him to wear. He manages to enhance such a basic ring in a way that Marvin can’t figure out.

“No engraving?” Marvin asks, turning Leon’s hand around to get a good look at his palms. He has a noticeable scar on the space between his thumb and finger. It’s light, but he can tell it once cut deeply.

“No engraving,” Leon says, his voice a breathless whisper. His fingers twitch in Marvin’s grip, so he lets Leon’s warmth slip from his hold quietly, putting his own hands in his pockets. The heat briefly warmed his freezing hands, he finds himself yearning to hold such embers again, but only for a moment. Remembering who Leon is attached to and who he is. Although the latter still isn’t entirely clear, truth be told.

God, he needs to get up. Now he feels like walking around. He groans as he sits up. Fuck this. Why the hell did he do this alone again? Leon gets up easily, staring at Marvin struggling, looking amused like a true bastard. A true sexy bastard. Damn him.

As Marvin walks–more like limps–to his car, Leon shouts, “What about you?”

“You really think I’d be out here if I had one of those?” Marvin counters swiftly.

“Are you gonna be able to make it home like that?”

Marvin thought about it for a moment. He wasn’t looking forward to the half hour drive feeling like death but having to come back out here to get his car tomorrow was even worse. And how was he going to get a ride over here without having to explain?

“I can drive you home. I’ll get someone to drop your car off.”  
  
“I don’t really want you guys knowing my address.” 

“Did you ever remove yourself from the yellow pages?”

“...No,” Marvin replies, cursing himself internally. He didn’t think they were still around. The one they kept in the office was outdated by at least a decade. They just kind of stickied any relevant new numbers onto the phone booths outside the office.  
  
“That’s what I thought. Get in,” Leon says, no room for arguments on that one. He pats the roof of his car, which is also pretty nondescript as far as vehicles go, and even opens the door for Marvin like a true gentleman. He adds ‘charming’ to his list of words to describe him. Leon buckles his seatbelt, reaching over to buckle Marvin’s as well. “Y’know, we could find out where your cousin twice removed lived if we wanted to.”   
  
“Is that supposed to comfort me?”   
  
“No,” Leon grins devilishly. “Just asserting my dominance.”   
  
Marvin snorts in response, feeling his lids sag. “Look, I’m seriously about to pass out. Can you just… talk to me? About anything?”

“Um, okay,” Leon says awkwardly. He sends a text, typing quickly, before starting the car. Leon starts driving, not saying a word but staring at Marvin. “I don’t really know what to say.”  
  
“Don’t make me repeat myself,” Marvin taunts. He couldn’t help it. He sees Leon roll his eyes.

“I take back what I said about liking you,” Leon starts. He starts talking about a book he’s reading at the moment. But Marvin isn’t really listening to what he’s saying. He can hear the words, but it’s going in one ear and out the other. Really Leon just has a soothing voice. It’s really a voice that makes Marvin feel tranquil. He does want to fall asleep to the sound of his voice, but he manages to stay awake. Even if he feels unguarded right now, it would be more than stupid to fall asleep. Leon could change his mind and kill him. As he watches familiar landscapes as they drive close into the town, he feels a small comfort in knowing he’s closer to home, to safety.

Leon pulls up quickly to Marvin’s place, turning his headlights off. “You weren’t listening to me at all were you?”

“I was actually, I never said I was going to contribute. Thanks for the ride. Five stars,” Marvin says. “Though I do wanna know how you knew where I lived already.”

“I aim to please,” Leon smiles. “And I memorized all of your addresses.”  
  
“Fucking hell,” Marvin whispers. Leon was terrifying. He was underestimating him. He needs to rethink how to approach this entire situation. He’s disappointed with himself that he didn’t question this sooner.

“Don’t think too much about it. You should get going though,” Leon says. “It’s pretty late.”

“I can tell you want to get rid of me,” Marvin says opening the door. The chill isn’t as strong outside as it was at the bar but it’s still cold. “But we need to talk. After I’ve had some fucking sleep.”

“I’ll contact you, it won’t be the other way around,” Leon replies, his face looks closed off. He lets out a deep breath. “Goodnight, Marvin. Be careful. You’re lucky it was me tonight.”  
  
Marvin says nothing, but gives a small nod. He shuts the door wordlessly and Leon speeds off without another word.

Marvin is tempted to go straight to bed but forces himself to shower the blood off. He scrubs at his body slowly. He feels the pins of regret pierce his heart for some reason, but he can’t think right now. He goes through the motions of a shower, cleansing himself of the dirt, blood, and stupidity. He turns the shower off, hastily drying off carelessly. He drops his towel on the floor–he needs a new one for the week anyway–and drags himself to bed.

He presses his hand to his chest, convinced the warmth from Leon’s hand lingers. Marvin doesn’t remember his dream in the morning, but he can remember the sound of a harp plucking in the distance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if i had more talent i would wait like 5 more chaps before introducing leon but my inner vein kid won and said NOW... also sry if everyone seems OOC rn... we got some plot stewin in the back that will explain everything in due time ^_~ and any CC is welcome<3 it took me a lot longer to clean this up bc life stuff but now we're probably gonna wait 40000 days for the next chap :x
> 
> all my chap titles are taken from songs i like.. i try to name them after the ~aesthetic~ of the song. as u will soon discover i have what the ppl call "shit taste" and i am forcing it onto u all.
> 
> ok a few more things. i realized that leon basically starts out as a 2011 lana del rey song personified. no words....
> 
> i do apologize for writing my notes in 2003 FF dot net style but i for real type like this on twitter it's exhausting following me so i urge u all to block me ON SIGHT.
> 
> see u all next chapter!!! :3 thank u for all the kudos and love!!!! it means a lot to me and encourages me to keep writing heh thanks for taking the time to read my crazy ideas for such small pairings this is the road i take.. the one less traveled ok i'm stopping THANK UUU ^_^

**Author's Note:**

> leon will show up soon im going vein kid to try a lil sumn called BUILDUP bc my monkey brain is like *banging on table* bring out the leon bring out the LEON
> 
> anyways. :3 stay tuned!!!!


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